Sweet Orange Memories

The day was overcast and rainy. Mom drove north to Maine, rather than driving south from New Hampshire toward home, because she just needed to see the ocean. Walking into the sand, she hung her bag on the tree that stood on the rocky edge of the beach. 

Like this photograph, there's not much to the story. Like hanging her purse on the tree, it was just a very “Mom” thing to do.  But I have never lost the feeling of this moment, even when I thought the photo itself had been lost to time.  

It took me a decade after mom died, and having 2 kids of my own, to get over my grudge against the month of May. The double whammy of her birthday coupled with Mother's Day, and May was as flat and grey as this photo. 

Learning to be a mother, without my own alive to talk to, I often focused on what was missing. Last year I realized I had to find my way back to what I was lucky enough to have. I also had to find a way to make that monumental task a bit less daunting. Since they say the way to tackle something difficult is to start small, I made a point of recalling the little things. 

Buttered Rum Lifesavers! I spotted a roll one day in a checkout line, and in a flash I was 6 years old, digging in my mommy’spurse. I could practically smell the Revlon lipstick blotted Kleenex. Then thatmoment of delight when she would say with a smile, “Sure baby. Here you go.”  Did mom know that 30 years later her words would be so much sweeter than the candy? 

As parents I think we all know those glittering, exceptional moments when the gauze slips over your vision and you want the world to just stop and let you soak in all the undeniable perfection. No one crying, everyone giggling, contentedly enjoying the same slice of time. I live for those moments. Or maybe it’s that I live in them? Either way. 

Do you ever stop to ponder if your kids recognize that same moment? Does it imprint on their brains the way it does ours? Lately I wonder more and more – what mental snapshots are they taking? 

I have vivid memories of watching rain splatter on the suburban streets of my youth. Sitting with my mom in the hatchback of our car, garage door open, waiting for the lightning flash so we could count until the thunderclap hit us. Sometimes we’d be snuggled in blankets, huddled close. Usually there was no real conversation. We were just listening. Together. 

My 5yo son also has a vivid memory. He loves to recount the adventures we’ve taken; he’s partial to the times we’ve checked out the vacancies in our apartment building. He and his little sister love tearing around the empty rooms, playing hide & seek in closets, their squeals bouncing off the bare walls. Twenty years from now will he still be delighted in this perk of being the Super’s kid?

My Boy. Most days he wakes up before the Sun, the sound of his heavy footfalls on the bunk bed steps are amplified by the monitor that still sits by my bedside. Truly, he sounds like a small elephant crashing through any dream world I might be in.

Although I curse his complete inability to sleep until after dawn, I already miss the way he used to barrel into our bedroom, bounding onto my side of the bed. “Look Mom! It’s the sunrise! The Sun is rising!” Grabbing my phone to check the time, I got into a habit of taking a photo to post on Instagram later, even as I’d whisper, “Yes! Isn’t it a beautiful start to the day?” Then I’d try to coax him to lie down for a few more minutes.

Now, avoiding Mommy trying to get him to rest more, he heads to the living room; I find myself reluctantly rising to joining him on the couch, hoping to play the scene out there instead.

Let’s be honest, as this kid gets older I am learning I need to take my cuddles when & where I can get them.

So as we sit quietly in the dark, our sleepy eyes dazzled by the Sun’s bright orange light rising over the skyline, I can’t help but wonder if all these mornings of cuddling up will blend together. Leaving only the gauzy memory of a picture perfect sunrise.

Why is it on Wednesdays I Wear Pink?

"On Wednesdays we wear pink" is a line from the smart and funny movie Mean Girls. So the short explanation for why I've adopted this rule is because I like celebrating something that is smart and funny. However, for me it is much more than that.

If you were around at the beginning of April 2014, you know about a little thing Hot Mess Mom called #Underboobpalooza. Maybe you noticed - it had FB buzz for a few days. It was a funny way to go about raising awareness and money for breast cancer research.

I love to find the silver linings, so I shared, posted, and prodded at folks to participate in this serious silliness. I also vowed to post my own #underboob on my FB page when the goal was met. That looked a little something like this:

As promised, check out #TheDoctor Potato Head lending his support for HMM's Underboobpalooza.
In fact, he's also supporting the site of one of my very own surgical biopsy scars.
So far I've been #cancerfree, but this disease gallops through my family. While Hot Mess Mom put the fun in this fundraiser - this campaign has also been very personal. It was important for me to lend my voice via this page & I greatly appreciate your support.
The initial goal for this one-week campaign of $10,000+ for breast cancer research was reached today, & HMM's Underboobpalooza page will remain active. You can also be sure come October I will be out waiving a pink flag to raise awareness & dollars.

Being a part of this fundraiser sparked something in me, and I although I didn't know it until I was typing that status I had decided that I NEEDED to do more.

I've known about breast cancer all my life, literally. My grandmother, and both her daughters - my mom and my aunt - all had breast cancer, each with different outcomes. While they didn't all die from the cancer, all of them are gone now. Unfortunately I don't really have their medical history, and know much less about the cancer history of our extended family.

Honestly, when I was young I was happy enough not to know details. Because - seriously - cancer is scary.

I knew enough to know that I had a target on my back. 

Before I was 30, when a doctor was alarmed and wanted first a sonogram, then a needle biopsy  I knew I would say yes. I knew when the oncologist took one look at my chart and asked if she could schedule a surgical biopsy right away - just days before Christmas - that I could not think twice. Thankfully, I also soon knew the undeniable relief of hearing the results were clear.

In the years following my biopsies I was encouraged to get genetic testing. I balked. I couldn't wrap my brain around why I would do it. As I couldn't see myself having preventative mastectomies. Wouldn't I just be getting a more detailed look at the Sword of Damocles hanging over my head? No, thanks, I'll just wait 'til it falls.

Of course, I was young and all those ladies in my family were still alive. Plenty of time to worry about it later.  Get more info from the women who had lived to tell the tale... But like the testing, I put off the hard conversations and then it was too late.

Mom and my aunt died six months apart; they have been gone almost a decade. When my grandmother lost both her daughters,  not terribly long after her husband died, she understandably let most painful things retreat from her mind. 

So, there I was: Last woman standing. Alone, being the only female of my generation to blossom on that branch of the family tree.

I admit to getting pissed off about my own naïveté, as well as the way my family handled the subject. I should know more. And they should be here to tell their stories and guide me. 

So few months back I had a mammogram. And then immediately a sonogram. Bonus - I'm also one of those lucky ladies for whom such diagnostic tools are almost inconclusive. So while neither showed anything of any real concern, again doctors have strongly urged me to get genetic testing. ASAP.

I'm 2 months away from my 40th birthday. My family history is scary and I have a decision to make. Because now I'm a mom and an aunt. I have a daughter, as does my brother. So I'm thinking I need to learn all I can so they can have answers.

Wow - What in the hell does ALL of that have to do with Wearing Pink on Wednesdays?

Well just this: #Underboobpalooza made me realize that I needed to stop ignoring the Scary Sword of Cancer. I needed to reach up and grab it.

Oddly, or perhaps not so unpredictably, when I reached out the first thing my brain grabbed was that movie quote. And it just clicked:

• I will wear pink on Wednesdays to remind myself that I AM IN the fight against breast cancer.
• I wear pink because I will face my fears & I will fight like a girl.
• I wear pink to honor all the women I know who have had to take up the fight against breast cancer.

I wear pink on Wednesdays to honor my mom, and my aunt, and my grandmother. Of course, those ladies were all really smart & funny. So I guess the short answer works for them too.